The Event Horizon
by EndlessSoliloquy
Summary: Their first time was hurried, rushed, fueled by adrenaline and sick relief, with the threat of being caught hanging over their heads. This time is deliberate, planned, and so very, very different. Set at the end of season three.


His palms were sweating.

Not enough to become slick against the steering wheel, but enough that he wished he could have wiped them on his trousers. But Jemma's hand was there, tracing teasing little patterns on his inner thigh that were driving him mad, and the light in her eyes wasn't solely from the passing cars. He swallowed, hard, as she gave him a Look through her lashes—the same Look she'd been giving him all evening, the same Look that had him nearly embarrassing himself in public as her flirtations grew more brazen.

Fitz finally took her hand in his, linking their fingers. "You," he began huskily, kissing along each knuckle while carefully keeping an eye on the road, "are a distraction."

That tone sent shivers down her spine. "Hmm. I am, aren't I?" she asked with a mischievous smile. The tension didn't leak out of him as she'd intended, and her brow furrowed. "What's the matter, Fitz?"

"W-What? Why do you think something's the matter?" His voice was higher than it had been a moment ago, and he looked between Jemma and the street furiously for a moment before settling on her.

She placed her hand on his leg again, but this time to comfort. With a gentle squeeze, she smiled wanly. "Fitz, you don't have to pretend with me. If you don't want—"

His eyes grew wide at the mere suggestion. "No, trust me. I want— I just— I—" He sighed, running a hand over his face. When it was gone, a look of determination took its place. Fitz swung into the nearest parking lot, empty save for one car at the farthest end, and took up two spaces as he parked them under a light. He turned in the seat to face her, struggling against the seatbelt, too agitated to remember he could take it off until Jemma reached over and released the clip. "Thanks."

"We don't have to do this, you know."

"What, talk? I'd love not to, but…" He looked out the windshield, huffed out a breath, then turned back. "I don't want you to ever think I don't want you." His eyes went wide again and he backpedaled. "Not- not that that's all I want from you. Of course I want a lot of things that aren't, uh, well, you know." The flush was back across his cheeks, and his fumbling was adorable.

"Fitz, we've had sex. You can say the word." Her lips were pressed tight to keep from laughing though.

"Yeah, that's the thing. It was only just the once, and that time was…" _hurried, rushed, fueled by adrenaline and sick relief, with the threat of being caught hanging over our heads_ "…good, but not exactly how I'd envisioned it." He pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed out another breath. "Not that this is going exactly how I'd envisioned it either."

"So you're…nervous?"

"Terrified, actually, but yeah, nervous works." Because this time was deliberate, planned, and so very, very different.

"Fitz?"

"Yeah?"

She leaned closer, her chest pressing against his arm while her lips met his in a long, languorous kiss. When she pulled away, their breathing was a little heavier, his eyes half-lidded. "Take us home."

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The door had barely closed behind them when Jemma pushed Fitz up against it for a kiss, the kind of kiss that had them both breathless at the end. When Fitz opened his eyes again, Jemma had to suppress a shiver. Those ocean-blue depths held all the fury of a storm, the intensity there rendering her speechless, breathless. The passion in his gaze was emotion of the same caliber that had driven men to war since time immemorial, the same that would stretch beyond them into timelessness. As if having gained confidence from her incapacitated state, he moved that half step closer, one hand cupping her cheek, lifting her chin as his head slowly lowered.

Jemma nearly groaned aloud at the soft touch of his lips. They were the restrained, teasing kisses of a man who wanted, who burned, but who made no demands—and left her wishing he would make a few. When that infuriatingly soft touch came again, Jemma flung herself against him, hands scrabbling for purchase in his short curls as her tongue swept into his mouth. Fitz made a noise deep in his throat, grabbing her hips as if to steady them both before his arms wrapped completely around her, eliminating the scant space that remained between them.

Even now, his mouth was maddening, tongue mapping every inch of this new territory as his hands roamed over her back, gripping, clutching, scraping. The sounds that he made as Jemma returned each gesture in kind only spurred her on, trying to take in air in desperate gulps without breaking contact, and even then Fitz kissed her as if there was nothing more to want, nothing more to need. His hands finally—FINALLY—slid down her shoulders, flattening across her chest. Deft fingers found the top button just as she sensed his intention, and her own shaking hands mirrored his.

"Jemma," he murmured, breaking the kiss at last, instead trailing his mouth down her neck. Her breath hitched as he found a sensitive spot under her jaw, on her hammering pulse, at the juncture of her shoulder. His was no better as her nails skimmed over his chest, dug into his shoulders, as his name fell from her lips like a plea. Fitz slipped his hands inside her open shirt, once again pulling her close, their searing flesh brushing together at last.

His nimble engineer's fingers made quick work of her bra, and Jemma pulled back only long enough to impatiently discard her shirt, the layer beneath tossed aside just as quickly. Fitz's hands stilled on her shoulders, his entire face alight as he took in the expanse of creamy skin. Jemma closed the short distance between them, hooking her thumbs in his belt loops and urging his hips even closer. His arousal seemed to burn through the layers of cloth, and she couldn't help the wanton urge to rock gently against him. Fitz gasped, his fingers digging into her waist, his mouth still hungrily devouring hers.

Jemma popped the button on his trousers, moving her lips to his neck. He was trying to undress her as well, and she batted his hands away. Her mouth found his ear, whispered into it. "Let me do this."

He couldn't seem to find a reply as she knelt, pulling his remaining clothes with her, then gently pushed him onto the bed. His legs didn't get the message, and he sat heavily, expression still caught in an odd mix of terror and awe. Jemma ran a finger down his length, watching as his lashes fluttered and his eyes rolled back in his head. Her hands roamed gently over his shaft, testing speed and pressure until Fitz was making a near-constant stream of noise. Then she carefully rolled back his foreskin, exposing the sensitive glans, and lowered her head. Fitz watched, mesmerized, as his length disappeared, inch by excruciating inch, into the mouth of the woman he loved beyond all reason. The sight alone was almost erotic enough to make this encounter embarrassingly short. Then she was moving, a slow bob of the head that left him staring at the smear of lipstick left behind, a small detail that he fervently hoped meant he wasn't dreaming. Jemma moaned along with him, Fitz arching his hips against the delicious vibration. Jemma's fist joined her mouth, both pumping until suddenly he was over the edge, vision gone blank from a searing, white-hot wave of pleasure.

Panting, Fitz fell back onto the bed, eyes squeezed closed until he felt Jemma's weight with him. She hovered over him with a smile, makeup mussed, hair coming out of its ponytail in every different direction, and god she had never looked so beautiful. He put a reverent hand to her face, grinning as she kissed his palm.

When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. "So, um, that's going to make—" he paused, searching for the right word, which was so difficult while she was dangling over him like that. "—later a little harder."

She grinned and sat back on her heels, crossing her arms against his chest and propping her head on them. "That's the wonderful thing about erections. We can always make more."

"That… should not be as arousing as it is." He chuckled, kissing the top of her head. Jemma shifted to recapture his lips with hers, and Fitz took advantage of her new position to gently skim his fingers up her sides, stopping just shy of her breasts. "Jemma," he whispered, question in his stormy blue eyes.

In answer, she pulled away. Fitz's breath caught in his throat as she bent down with the slow removal of her pants, gingerly stepping out of the remains of an outfit that had made her look so very beautiful tonight. She bit her lower lip as she rose again, effectively on display. Jemma caught herself trying to cross her arms and instead clamped one hand on the opposite wrist, letting Fitz slowly take in the lightly freckled skin. Her natural shyness was trying to overtake her earlier boldness, and she fought against it even as the blush crept down her neck into her chest. Being naked in front of previous men had never felt so empowering; none of them stared at her like Fitz did, like a goddess come to earth. It gave her the courage to close the distance between them.

Fitz, for his part, was still wordlessly sitting on the bed with an open shirt and trousers around his ankles. They hadn't even gotten his shoes off. Jemma smiled as she remembered that tidbit from their last encounter. She slowly pushed his shirt from his shoulders, grinning as he hurriedly helped her shed it and tossed it aside without ever taking his eyes from hers. He kicked off the rest of his clothes with the same dismissiveness, eyes tracing every line of Jemma's lithe form. His hands found her hips, drawing her closer until her stomach rested against his chest, his head almost settled between her breasts.

Jemma ran her fingers through his tight curls, watching his lashes flutter against his cheeks as his eyes closed in simple pleasure. He pressed kisses all along her stomach, as high as he could reach before opening his eyes to look at her again. That passion, that hunger, from earlier was back, and his voice was roughened by lust as he whispered, "Come to bed with me."

That voice made her weak in the knees, wobbly as he guided her onto the bed. Stretched out before him, legs open to accommodate his broad shoulders, Jemma felt so incredibly wanton. She didn't need the attention he was currently lavishing on her breasts, hot mouth and tongue playing her like an instrument. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, stroking her into a frenzy. One leg lay between hers, and she couldn't help but grind against it while he slowly drove her mad.

Fitz kissed and nipped his way down her belly, hot breath leaving goosebumps in its wake. Jemma gripped his chin before he could reach his goal, suddenly panicked. "Fitz, that's- that's okay. You don't need to."

He took her hand in his, pressing it flat to his cheek. "But I want to," he murmured, voice low and husky. Jemma was almost ashamed of how aroused that made her. Fitz's thumb traced the line of wetness that ran from her center and he smiled wickedly. "And it seems you want me to too." Rising again to kiss her, he nuzzled against her neck, pausing only long enough to whisper in her ear. "Besides, this will most definitely make another erection."

Wordless, Jemma watched Fitz settle himself between her legs, an erotic sight that sent shivers down her spine. Fitz grinned knowingly, holding her gaze as he slowly ran his tongue over the path his finger had taken a moment ago. Jemma let out a low moan as her head flopped back on the pillow. Her hips twitched despite herself, and Fitz took that as an invitation to pull open her lips, getting a full taste of her nectar. He traced lazy patterns with his tongue, ignoring, for the moment, her most sensitive place. It was heavenly. She was going to strangle him.

Finally Fitz came to the bundle of nerves that she needed most, plying his tongue and lips with varying pressure until Jemma was clenching the sheets, twisting under him. With a slight adjustment, two fingers slid slowly into her. Fitz closed his eyes, cataloging every response as he slowly thrust, adjusting one more time to give himself better access.

The next sound was so unlike the others that Fitz drew back, mouth open to ask what he'd done. Before he could even draw breath, Jemma's nails dug into his arm.

"Leopold Fitz, don't you DARE stop!"

His head snapped back into place before conscious thought, and it took a moment for the details of what had just happened to filter through the haze. Jemma, convulsing under him, hips thrusting up to meet his eager tongue, inner walls desperately milking his ever-moving fingers, her high, prim accent unraveling into a harsh, throaty voice as she came undone. Fitz groaned at it all, grinding his hips against the mattress. As promised, he was growing hard again, trying hard not to rut in rhythm to his thrusting fingers while Jemma thrashed beneath him. Her fingers left his arm and tangled in his hair, holding him tight to her while her moans grew more frantic. Fitz's noises were just as loud, until finally the gush of liquid that signaled her release dribbled over his palm. Fitz, panting, slowly brought his mouth and hand to rest, head resting on her leg, fingers still curled inside her.

Jemma coughed, ending in a slight moan as her fingers contracted around Fitz's nimble fingers. "I need you," she whispered, fingers finally loosening in his hair. She whimpered as he finally extracted his fingers, blushing as she saw the strings of fluid attached.

" _I need you," she'd whispered, hands on his belt._

" _What about- er, I uh," he'd responded eloquently, shuddering at the feel of her hands against hist flushed skin. "Condom. Condom," he finally got out, just as she opened his fly._

" _Depo," she murmured against his ear._

 _He drew back at that. "Recently? When on earth have you had time to get a shot?"_

" _It's good for a year, Fitz. I had it done before— Before." She didn't want to tell him that all female agents had some sort of compulsory birth control in case of capture. And certainly not the good that it had done her on Maveth. "Do you think we have time to argue about it?"_

 _He hadn't said so, but his actions agreed that they didn't._

This time, Fitz' brow was furrowed in a different way. He glanced down at his loosely curled fist, then back at Jemma, still ready and waiting. "I have an idea." He pulled the stack of pillows from the headboard and delicately folded them. He frowned, rearranged, and rearranged again before giving them a satisfied nod. He shifted the pile level with Jemma's hips and gave the top a gentle pat. "Come prop yourself up."

Jemma couldn't completely disguise her dismay. "REALLY, Fitz? The oldest 'spice up your sex life' advice in existence?"

Much to her surprise, he didn't blush or stutter or look away. He merely smiled. And the confident wickedness therein sent shivers through her core as his husky, lust-thickened brogue whispered, "Trust me."

"I did the math," he said softly as he positioned himself at her opening. "At this angle, with your natural curvature—" he gave a slow push, sinking in inch by delicious inch, his quick intake of breath not quite covering Jemma's gasp "—all of your most sensitive points should be in contact."

And they were. Jemma arched her back into Fitz's agonizingly patient entry, pinpoints of pleasure she didn't even know she had exploding into delicious shivers. At last, Fitz's hips were flush against her own, the angle of his body over hers pressing into the sensitive nub that he had so expertly manipulated mere minutes ago.

"This might be the first time I truly appreciate the maths," she murmured against his neck, and was rewarded with a chuckle that rumbled against her own.

"The rest was more difficult," he admitted, his out-and-back thrust slow and smooth, one rolling into another so seamlessly that Jemma found it hard to catch her breath. This wasn't the intense, gripping, needy pace that previous boyfriends had used; it was, instead, a soft, languid pleasure that rippled out from her core in waves. The wanton moans from earlier were replaced with sighs and gasps, her hands gripping his arms for better leverage to meet that heavenly source of pleasure.

"The velocity," Fitz panted, squeezing his eyes shut before they popped open to rest on Jemma's face again. "The velocity is hard- harder to cal- calculate, as well as the fri- friction…" His thrusts, though steady and even, had lost their smoothness. The gentleness was sweet, but there came a point where gentle became a barrier to what their bodies so desperately wanted.

Jemma scored her nails down Fitz's back and was rewarded with a deep, guttural sound that she'd never heard before. He was obviously fighting hard not to cross the line between making love and fucking, and, just as obviously, was losing. One hand twined in his hair, the other pricked the back of his neck as she drew his face closer to hers. Her voice was husky with need as she spoke, begging him to understand. "Leo, _please_."

That was all the permission he needed. Sinking his teeth into her shoulder, Fitz pulled back just enough to reposition his hips and then slammed forward, searing every nerve ending with explosive pleasure. The gentle teasing was gone, replaced by hands and teeth, rough kisses and harsh moans, and a primal rhythm that overshadowed rational thought. Jemma's world narrowed to the feel of his impossibly soft skin under her grasping hands, the passionate sounds he uttered as she nipped her way across his collarbone, the sinfully addictive sensation of his hips moving with hers. Fitz, for his part, forgot his own name, but he remembered hers, and so he said it over and over; sometimes reverent as a prayer, sometimes through gritted teeth, and lastly as a scream to the heavens as she sent him over the edge.

 _They threw their clothes back on, not knowing how much longer it would be until the Quinjet was prepped and ready to go. Jemma fingercombed her hair in the bathroom mirror; Fitz packed their supplies. There was no time to hold one another and bask in joint pleasure. But every so often they caught one another's gaze as they cleared every trace of their presence from the hotel room and shyly smiled._

They curled together in the small bed, idly chatting about how to fit the belongings of two into a bunk meant for one. Fitz demanded a big screen television, Simmons countered. It was as if passing the event horizon hadn't changed them at all.


End file.
